unexpectedly
by nonsequiturvy
Summary: missing year. unwritten-verse, in which regina is sometimes a cat. based on the prompt: roland wants to be a cat, too.


He's expressly forbidden it.

Not that it's something Regina has ever seriously considered. Self-transfiguration had been a tricky enough thing for her to master, requiring years of tutelage under Maleficent's wing. But to perform this magic on another living being – let alone one who's a small child – is another matter entirely.

So when Roland gets the idea in his head that he'd like to turn into a cat too, she lets Robin be the one to say no – rather adamantly at that, and frankly she's a little hurt that he wouldn't trust her with this, her own reservations notwithstanding.

It's not her need to prove him _wrong_, exactly, that inspires Regina to take to her library at odd hours.

(Running a kingdom the "proper" way – that is, not succumbing to her more murderous tendencies whenever things don't go as planned – is surprisingly time-consuming, as is maintaining the complicated illusion that Snow is the one making all the important decisions. Regina can't have people mistaking her leadership for actually caring what happens to them, that just wouldn't do.)

In retrospect, she should have known that Robin was on to her.

"You're never as subtle as you like to think you are," he's taken great pleasure in letting her know, on more than one occasion. This is usually grounds enough for her to ignore him the rest of the day, which – she supposes just a bit grudgingly – only serves to prove his point.

But when it comes to her work, it's easy to forget everything else for a while. There's something about poring through old dusty tomes, reading cramped script by candlelight, taking notes and watching bright colors form in her glassware that's soothing to Regina. Warm, and familiar.

When the clock tower's chimed half past midnight, and no amount of coffee can keep her eyes from drifting shut to the sound of her quietly bubbling cauldron, it's easier to remember certain things, too.

(Long hours spent reading other books about magic, Henry curled up beside her asking for "just one more chapter, Mom, please," while valiantly stifling another yawn.)

Her son is never far from her mind as she waits out the next full moon, harvests the leeches, and tries to recall all the other ingredients that went into a Polyjuice Potion. The science behind it – as she'd once explained to a very wide-eyed Henry – showed thought despite being a bit flawed in some places, and so she makes a few tweaks of her own, stewing the lacewings for longer, and substituting chameleon eyes for the skin of Boomslang, which she's never kept well-stocked anyway.

It's thinner than the books had described it, and a pretty mint color by the time she's finally finished, but there's no doubt in her mind that it works.

She shouldn't be surprised when the knock at her door comes. It wouldn't be Belle, this late at night, and everyone else has learned to steer clear of the library when they see the strange fumes leaking out of the doorway.

It's Robin, with a pot of hot tea and a "Come back to bed, darling," looking sleep-rumpled in a way that she could not possibly resist.

"What's all this?" she asks him, taking the pot from his hands and letting it hover mid-air beside them as she steps into his embrace. Her fingers trace out the deep vee of his collar, lingering over the skin bared there.

"A little something to help you sleep," he tells her, groaning quietly when she stands on her toes to stretch her body up against his.

"I can think of something else that might help," she says, but then her cauldron gives a warning bubble, and she extracts herself with a sigh to siphon it up into little glass vials.

She has no intention of ever letting anyone drink it, of course, and when she tells Robin as much (much later, at that, when they're sweaty and sated, limbs tangled together into their bedsheets), he only smiles before pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

And what happens next – well, there will be plenty of time for sleep later.

Regina wakes up the following morning alone. They're both early risers, but she must have been positively exhausted after a month of toiling late in the library. She readies herself in no particular hurry, feeling only the satisfaction of what she's accomplished, and wondering idly what her next project will turn out to be.

She almost heads straight down to breakfast – it's late enough that Roland should be getting up soon, and the weather today would not be so bad for eating outdoors. But she takes a last-minute detour to her library, thinking to store her potions away first.

One would think, after everything, that she'd be prepared for what awaits her on the other side of the door.

Belle is there, comfortably settled down with a book in one of her chintz chairs – she turns a page, looking briefly up with a smile – but it's not so much that that interests Regina, as the hand Belle reaches out to pet something at the foot of the chair.

It's – a dog, some sort of mixed breed, with pointed German shepherd ears, and the thick, soft coat of a golden retriever. As soon as her attention is redirected, the dog sits up to greet her, alert, with what she can only describe as a very wide grin.

Regina blinks, and asks what, in hindsight, is not a very astutely formed question. "How did you get in here?"

The dog woofs in response, tail wagging out a happy _thump-thump-thump_ against the floor. His eyes are a piercing sky blue – such a strange combination, for this kind of dog – and she thinks – she thinks she would recognize them anywhere.

"Oh my God," says Regina.

She looks over at her workstation, already knowing what she'll find there: one of the potion bottles, empty of its last drop, and there beneath the table, a pile of clothes in green and brown earthy tones.

Robin the dog is bounding over to her the next instant, jumping circles around her until she crouches down to meet him halfway.

"And you're never as stubborn as you think you are," Regina whispers fondly to him, twisting away with a laugh when he leaps up to lick at her face.

"I think he likes you," says Belle, with a knowing glance before looking pointedly back down at her book.

Regina stares at her for a moment, wondering what she might risk if she were to change into her cat form right now.

"I didn't see anything," says Belle, as though she's read her mind, and then just for good measure she's lifting her book, blocking them both from her view.

Robin looks expectantly up at Regina.

They turn a lot of heads, walking through the castle together. There are of course plenty of cats roaming around at any given time, and no one but Snow has ever given Regina more than passingly curious glances before. But dogs are far less common, and this golden shepherd mix at that, walking curiously close to a cat without managing to stir up any kind of trouble.

"What a funny pair," remarks one of the Merry Men as they amble past him in the hall. "You ever seen that dog around, Tuck?"

"Oh, in a manner of speaking," says the Friar in a blithe tone, to which the other man makes a confused sort of sound before moving on.

Snow's voice is coming through on the other side of the banquet hall doors, and she's opening one just in time to witness Regina, batting a paw at Robin's face with a hiss before beelining through the crack Snow's left in the door.

"Hm!" says Snow, turning back to look at Charming. "Sometimes I really can't help but think that that cat reminds me of someone we know."

"It's probably not a good idea to let it get too close in your current condition," is Charming's reply, and Regina strongly considers putting something dead and furry into their bed later that day.

She sits herself by the door, waiting for Robin to sneak in and join her. He makes a morose little whine in his throat, ears perking back up when she head-butts his chin for a moment. He gives her a sniff, and she presses her paw to his fur in a much gentler fashion this time before trotting off to find Roland.

John's eyes go very wide at the sight of them both, but he doesn't say a word, only clearing his throat and lifting his mug, muttering incoherently into his coffee. Roland is stealing a bite of potato from John's plate when Regina leaps onto the bench next to him, and he lets out a gasp of delight before turning around and dropping his jaw to see the dog there.

Very slowly, like someone might catch onto them all if he's moving too fast, Roland lifts a finger to his mouth and goes, "Shhhhhh! It's a secret. I promise I won't tell."

Robin puts his paws on the bench, looking quite content as Roland leans down and gives his ears a most thorough scratch. "Nice dog," Roland whispers loudly. "Nice dog. I love you, okay?" and he giggles when Robin stands on his hind legs to nuzzle his face.

Regina's minding her business, grooming a paw when Roland swivels to her with big, pleading eyes. "Does this mean it can be my turn yet?" he wants to know.

Both John and Robin are turning to look at Regina now – John's expression one of pure horror, Robin's patient, and playful, and kind – and if a cat could smile, Regina probably would have in that moment.


End file.
